Wilmington Woman's Club Ch. 54

It took Marty two days to catch up with Harrigan in a greasy spoon on Newark Avenue in Jersey City.

"I don't have anything to say to you," Harrigan said.

"Yes you do," Marty said with a thin smile.

"I heard about you," Harrigan said, "You like armed robbery, right?"

"I'll admit to doing time for it, yeah. But what I want from you is information on a former partner of mine, named Gentner. Conrad Gentner."

Never heard of him," Harrigan said and picked up his coffee cup.

It was a mistake and Harrigan seldom made them. Marty sapped the cup, knocking it out of Harrigan's hand and spilling most of the hot coffee into his lap.

He howled with the sudden burning pain. Marty held a hand up to stave off the waitress who had started toward the table they were sitting at.

"Sorry, my bad," he said. "Bring him some napkins, he'll be all right."

She hastened to get the napkins and Marty waited until she left. Then speaking softly, he told Harrigan that he knew where he lived; where his children went to school and where his wife shopped on a daily basis.

"You wouldn't dare ...." Harrigan sputtered, but the fear was already in his eyes, as he wiped away at the wet coffee on his trousers.

"What I what to know is what you two discussed and where I can find him. I get that you're home free, with no one the wiser. Think it over. You know me as an armed robber; ask yourself if I'm the kind of guy kills people in his way."

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Harrigan swore.

Marty laughed in his face. "Sticks and stones, Harrigan," he said. "I did eight years for Conrad and he's holding something of mine, and he doesn't seem to want to give it back to me. Now talk, or I'll have your oldest daughter raped tonight and let you watch."

Harrigan's face was bathed in sweat, and he was also as pale as a ghost.

"All right, he ain't worth it."

"Go on."

"It was June, maybe July of '81, he asked to meet, wanted advice on how to use a sum of money he'd come into. I don't know how much, he didn't say. But, um, I charge a flat ten grand for certain type advice, or introductions and he had no qualms about paying me. My guess is he had around a million to play with, but I can't say for sure."

"What did he ask you?"

"He wanted the whole enchilada and more... Heroin, cocaine... other pharmaceuticals.... As you know, they all pay very well."

Not knowing he was echoing Conrad's very words, Marty asked, "How well?"

"Done properly, maybe 5000, or 10,000 percent."

"Nice change," Marty said then waited for Harrigan to continue.

"He was . . . um, reluctant though."

"How so?"

I told him that the risk to his capital rose accordingly. Investors have been known to get themselves killed. He didn't care for the risk and wanted another option, a safer way. I told him he could invest in someone else's business rather than buying outright."

"Wouldn't there still be a relatively high risk?"

"Yes, of course. One, they can take your money and run. Two, they take the money and kill you. Three, they take the money and actually set out to complete the deal, but maybe something goes wrong, as in someone informs on the deal, and the Feds make a bust. Or, a rival learns of the deal and intercedes, possibly, no; make that probably killing those involved on the other side. Four, the deal goes smoothly, they give you your share which would be a tidy profit. And they'd tell you when they'll want to borrow some dough from you again."

"What did he say to that?"

"He asked if he could test the waters ... give something, but not all of it. I told him it would depend on the amount, that they weren't wasting their time on chickenshit offers."

"He probably didn't appreciate your candor," Marty said with a smile.

"He didn't. But he did call them. He put up $500,000 and bought some heroin from them."

"And you know this because?"

"My commission comes from both sides."

"So Conrad made out on the deal?"

"Um, yeah. I understand he ran the $500,000 up to about $1,300,000."

"So, what did he do after that?"

"I don't know. I never heard from him again."

"How do you know they paid him?"

"You're not listening. They sold him heroin. I'm guessing he sold it at normal market prices. That would net him the million, three. It's not likely that they'd pay me and kill him, you know?"

"You think he took the heroin, sold it and ran off to places unknown?"

"Yeah, I do."

"You should find another line of work. You're not cut out for this."

"Believe me, after this, I will."

Marty got into his car and drove off, leaving Harrigan sitting there.

****

He was still driving an hour later, when he stopped for a traffic light. He was red-eyed and in need of a shave. Now on Kennedy Boulevard in Jersey City close to the Union City line he began fidgeting in his pockets for cigarette but didn't find one. He pulled over and parked in front of a pharmacy and went inside to buy a pack of cigarettes.

As he came out a young woman was putting the kickstand of her bicycle down, but it didn't go down as far as it should and the bicycle fell heavily against Marty's car.

"What the hell!" he blurted.

"Oh, shit!" the girl cried out. "I'm so sorry. That was stupid of me. I don't know ... the damn kickstand didn't work."

He took in her long, lean tapered legs then the bra-band sweater covering her well-formed breasts. The woman bent to pick up the bicycle and he saw the pendulous swing of her breasts as she leaned over the handlebars.

"I am so sorry," she said looking him in the eye. Marty caught something in hers when he met her eyes.

"Sorry is nice, but it don't count when things like these dents are concerned."

"I can pay you something for your trouble . . . how much do you think it would cost to repair?"

"About two thousand dollars," he replied straight-faced.

"Two thousand . . . are you shitting me?"

"Where did the nice young lady go?" he responded with a smirk.

"What?"

"I'm calling the police."

"You're calling . . . you're crazy!"

"You got a license for that bike?"

"I don't need a license to ride . . ."

"You're under arrest."

"Don't tell me. You're a fucking cop?"

"Citizens arrest," he said, and saw her start to smile.

"You're hitting on me," she said and started to laugh. Marty joined her.

****

The following morning Mick rang the bell to Marty's rented apartment. There was no response and he knocked three times. Each time he knocked harder, and then he stood there listening for sounds inside. He heard what he thought was a shower working inside the apartment.

"Marty, it's me, Mick."

"Yeah," the response was low, but it was Marty, Mick was sure of it.

"It's Mick, c'mon open the fucking door."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's probably open, let yourself the fuck in."

The door was locked, but Mick used a credit card to jiggle the old lock and opened the door a few inches only to find a bicycle propped against it.

"The fuck is this, Marty?"

Just then the bike teetered and crashed to the floor. Mick walked into the room a befuddled but wary expression on his face. A moment later he started laughing, for Marty was handcuffed to the bedpost at the foot of the bed.

"So tell me, what happened to you?

"She's in the shower; the crazy bitch had these cuffs and snapped one on me. I never saw it coming."

Just then the shower went off and the girl walked naked into the room toweling her hair. It took a moment for her to notice Mick, but she didn't seem the least unnerved by his presence.

"Hi, are you a friend of . . . His?"

"Yeah," Mick said staring at her breasts.

"They're for real, honey," she said looking around the room. There were clothes strewn everywhere.

In order to do something other than stare at the girl, Mick picked the bicycle up and leaned it against the wall, inadvertently squeezing the horn which made a loud beep.

"Careful with my bike," the girl said as she picked up a pair of star covered panties and put them on.

"Gimmie my pants," Marty growled, and while the girl laughed, Mick moved quickly to pick up Marty's pants and handed them to him.

"He's not cuffed anymore, he could have gotten them himself," she said still laughing.

To Mick's surprise, she wasn't the least afraid of Marty and he wondered why.

"If you're wondering why I'm so mellow after being handcuffed by her, I'll tell you. It's been eight long years without. And tell the truth, she's fantastic in bed."

"Like I need an endorsement from you," the girl said.

"How was I?" Marty asked with a grin.

"Eight years, you say?"

Marty nodded.

"Prison?"

He nodded again.

"Then I give you a good grade."

"You give me a good grade?"

"Yeah, remember you came kind of quick first couple times."

Mick jumped in with, "Christ, I never been in and I cum quick every time!"

The girl laughed and Marty added, "But if you saw his wife you'd understand."

Everyone laughed at that.

They got dressed and the girl kissed both men and left with her bicycle.

"So who is she?" Mick inquired.

"Damned if I know."

"You really don't know her?"

"Not even her name."

"Jesus, Marty, you ain't lost a thing all those years away."

"Thanks Mick, now let's find that motherfucker, Conrad."

"I may have something, Marty."

"What?"

"Remember a guy named Tony DiVito?"

"Not really, tell me more."

"He worked for Conrad; um, this was after you went away. Understand I just last night learned his name and what he did."

"Which was?"

"Well, Conrad's in the drug business. Big time as I understand it. Word is Conrad sent him and another guy to some drug lord to make a considerable buy. The guy killed Tony's partner right off and beat the shit out of Tony and sent him back to Conrad minus the drugs and the money. Thing is, Tony didn't go back. He knew he was good as dead if Conrad got his hands on him. But he did call him and explained what happened. Conrad found out where Tony was holed up and sent a couple of goons to find and kill him. When they came back they went down to Florida and wiped out the drug lord and his family as I heard it. Your buddy Conrad is big time now."

"That's good work, Mick, very good work.

"I got more. Seems people have it in for Conrad. I also learned there's a girl was there when they did Tony. She hid and they didn't find her. It will take a few bucks to learn where she is, but that shouldn't be too difficult, especially they know you're looking for Conrad."

***

It wasn't.

It took two days to get a fix on the former junkie, Ginnie Forman, now twenty-two and already worn out from the hard life she'd led. Marty had an address in Keansburg, at the Jersey Shore and he and Mick drove there in Mick's souped-up Mercury.

"Wanna hear a joke?" Marty asked as he lit up his third cigarette of the morning.

"Sure, it'll kill some time and might even give me a good laugh."

Marty smiled, Mick thought that the guy seemed more relaxed after getting his ashes hauled. Eight years, he thought, that's a long time between drinks.

"Anyway," Marty said, "there was a Dom that was getting ready to go on a long business trip. He knew his sub was a flirtatious sort, so he thought he'd try to get her something to keep her occupied while he was gone, because he didn't much like the idea of her having sex with someone else.

So he went to a store that sold sex toys and started looking around. He thought about a life-sized sex doll, but that was too close to another man for him.

He was browsing through the dildos, looking for something special to please his sub, and started talking to the old man behind the Counter. He explained his situation.

The old man said, "Well, I don't really know of anything that will do the trick. We have vibrating dildos, special attachments, and so on, but I don't know of anything that will keep your sub occupied for weeks, except..." and he stopped.

"Except what?" The man asked.

"Nothing, nothing."

"C'mon, tell me! I need something!"

"Well, sir, I don't usually mention this, but there is the 'Voodoo Dick.'"

"So what's up with this Voodoo Dick?" the Master asked.

The old man reached under the counter, and pulled out an old wooden box, carved with strange symbols. He opened it, and there lay a very ordinary-looking dildo.

The Dom laughed, and said "Big fucking deal. It looks like every other dildo in this shop!"

The old man replied, "But you haven't seen what it'll do yet." He pointed to a door and said "Voodoo Dick, the door." The voodoo dick rose out of its box, darted over to the door, and started fornicating with the keyhole. The whole door shook with the vibrations, and a crack developed down the middle.

Before the door could split, the old man said "Voodoo Dick, get back in your box!" The Voodoo Dick stopped, floated back to the box and lay there, quiescent once more.

"I'll take it!" said the Dom.

The old man resisted, saying it wasn't for sale, but he finally surrendered to $700 in cash. The Master took it home to his sub, told her that it was a special dildo and that to use it, all she had to do was say "Voodoo Dick, my pussy."

The wise Master left for his trip satisfied that things would be fine while he was gone. After he'd been gone a few days, the sub was unbearably horny. She thought of several people who would willingly satisfy her, but then she remembered the Voodoo Dick.

She got it out, and said "Voodoo Dick, my pussy!" The Voodoo Dick shot to her crotch and started pumping. It was great, like nothing she'd ever experienced before. After three orgasms, the sub decided she'd had enough, and tried to pull it out, but it was stuck in her, still thrusting.

She tried and tried to get it out, but nothing worked. Her Master had forgotten to tell her how to shut it off. So she decided to go to the hospital to see if they could help.

She put her clothes on, got in the car and started to drive to the hospital, quivering with every thrust of the dildo. On the way, another orgasm nearly made her swerve off the road, and she was pulled over by a policeman.

He asked for her license, and then asked how much she'd had to drink. Gasping and twitching, the sub explained that she hadn't been drinking, but that a Voodoo Dick was stuck in her pussy, and wouldn't stop screwing her.

The officer looked at her for a second, and then said: "Yeah, right ...Voodoo Dick, my ass!"

It took three seconds for Mick to realize he'd just heard the punch line then he burst out laughing.

"Ya got me Marty, I was thinking he was gonna boff her in the ass. But that's the way my mind works."

"Hey, Mick, I heard that in stir while waiting for a movie to begin. There must of been fifteen guys with obvious boners when the guy finished telling it."

***

She was not expecting the knock at the door, or the two men on the other side.

They found me, she thought, I never thought they still be looking.

"We're not who you think we are," Marty whispered, knowledgeable enough about terrified people to be careful in his approach.

Ginnie had gone cold-turkey after getting Tony the medical help he needed, and had a semblance of who else might be looking for her. "Who ... who are you?"

Mollified that she had not threatened to call the police, Marty told her exactly who he was. "Conrad fucked me. I want to fuck him back. I'm told you and a friend name of Tony disappointed him and he tried to have you both killed. That about it?"

"Come in," she said, opening the door.

She sat down and bit her nails, hoping she hadn't made a serious error in judging them to be friendly.

"Why don't we begin by telling your story about what happened?" he said as gently as possible.

Ginnie repeated the story of that night and how the two men had burst into the apartment while she was in the bathroom; how she had hidden in the hamper and avoided detection. How they had tortured Tony and left him for dead and how she had managed to get him to a doctor she knew who kept things quiet, allowing them to survive Conrad's wrath.

"What did they look like?" Mick asked.

"I never saw them. Tony would know, maybe even have a name."

"Is Tony nearby?"

"A phone call away if you're gonna do Conrad."

"I know it's a lot to ask you to bring us to Tony. There's a bar down the block. Tell Tony, Marty Piatkowski wants to see him. If he worked for Gentner he'll know who I am, and that he needn't be afraid to meet me. We'll wait about an hour or so. He stops by, good. Otherwise we'll come back see if he left a number or something."

"I could call the bar after I talk to him," Ginnie said.

"You've kicked the shit, haven't you?"

She nodded, "Since that night. Not one relapse."

"He got my girl hooked to that shit while I was in prison. He promised to look after her for me."

"Never met him, but it sure sounds like him," she replied in a low voice.

"Well, we'll be in the bar," Marty said as the two men got up and made for the door.

"I got the number of the bar. I'll call you," Ginnie said, and in an even lower voice, "You gonna kill that bastard?"